


Ruthlessly Crushing Your Enemies Is The True Meaning Of Christmas

by Ias



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, Competition, Destiel Advent Calendar, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mall AU, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel work at the shops opposite each other in the mall, and both are entering the yearly Christmas decoration contest. Dean wouldn't really describe himself as competitive. But he would literally sell his soul to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruthlessly Crushing Your Enemies Is The True Meaning Of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution for the [Destiel Advent Calendar](http://destieladventcalendar.tumblr.com/)!

“Things aren’t looking so good for us, Sammy.”

“Dean…”

“Look, I just want you to know. In case we don’t make it, or whatever… alright, I’m just gonna say it: I’m perfectly happy with second place.”

“ _What_?” Sam’s eyebrows shot all the way up behind the white fringe of his Santa hat.

Dean grinned and punched him in the arm lightly. “Chill man, I’m kidding.” He nudged his brother in the ribs. “We’ll whip those young upstarts back into place just like always, eh sonny?” he said in a creaky voice.

Sam shook his head grimly. “I’m not so sure.”

Sammy always had been the doom and gloom department around here. For the past few years since he’d gotten Dean a job at the Roadhouse selling outdoor supplies and flannel, they’d been going all out on Christmas decorations. Fake snow, paper cutouts, plastic deer—anything Christmas-y Dean could get his hands on would end up in the shop some day. And then, on Christmas Eve after closing, the mall’s manager Marv (try saying that five times fast, except don’t because you might summon him) would come around and award the shop with the best decorations a gift card. From the first year they started offering a prize, The Roadhouse had won every time.

His boss Ellen could be a bit of a hard-ass (that was what he liked about her) but when she saw how sales went up more than any other Christmas season, she let it slide. He still hadn’t got her to wear anything more than your run-of-the-mill Santa hat, but he was patient. She’d wear a full Santa costume someday if it was the last thing he did. That was usually the point where Sam gently put his hand on his shoulder and told him he sounded like the holiday version of Doctor Doom. But hell, if it won them the mall’s yearly holiday decorations award, he’d start building the Doombots.

Speaking of Doombots. After five minutes spent scrutinizing the store across the hall from behind the winter coats section, Dean had to admit they had a problem. It was a new branch of some fancy apple-wannabe electronic store that had just opened up, which at first he hadn’t given much thought. They all had weird names and were too “hip” and “cool” to care about something as great as the holiday contest. Or so Dean had thought.

Staring out at their sleek storefront, that was looking less likely. They’d set up some kind of electronic light display that made it look like snowflakes were gently drifting down over the entire store, with the occasional projected reindeer racing across the walls. The whole back wall had been cleared away so they could project classic Christmas movies the whole time, with oversized plush Christmas presents to sit on in front of it. Dean ground his teeth. This was definitely not good.

“I think their uniforms might be better than ours, Dean,” Sam said.

Dean stuck a finger in his face. “You shut your mouth. Nothing tops red and green plaid when it comes to holiday cheer.” With that, he whisked Sam’s plaid Santa hat off his head. “Go do inventory or something.”

“You know I technically outrank you,” Sam said mildly.

“Santa commands it!” As soon as Sam had meandered off, Dean turned back to the storefront just as one of the employees started straightening the displays. Sam had a point, damn it. Their uniforms were all sleek and simple, just a red shirt with green hems. Dean glanced down and smoothed down the front of his holiday flannels self-consciously. Maybe he should have gone with something a little more…chic.

When he looked back up, the other guy was staring right at him.

Swearing under his breath, Dean dove down behind the sled display and immediately regretted that decision. Now he looked like a creep _and_ an idiot. Great start, Dean. Great start.

“What are you doing down there, Dean?” Sam’s voice rang out uncomfortably loud through the store.

“I just dropped something, Sammy, mind your own business,” Dean snapped, hauling himself to his feet with a grimace. He couldn’t help but glance at the other storefront. The guy was still there, watching him, and now he was talking to someone else. A someone-else who then started walking towards him.

Dean mustered up the remaining shreds of his dignity and tried to make it look like he was busy. It wasn’t until he heard a loud, obnoxious throat being cleared that he looked up. When he turned around he was face to face (or more accurately chest-to-face) with a short guy with a hooked nose and a smarmy smile. Smugness seemed to come off him like waves of perfume. He didn’t have a name tag.

His eyes travelled around the store before he even said anything, taking in the strings of white Christmas lights and the animatronic reindeer Dean had picked up from a yard sale for five dollars (only one side of it still worked). The smarminess dialed up a notch.

“Nice place you got here,” he said, accurately expressing the exact opposite.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest and wondering how intimidating he could possibly look in a plaid Santa hat.

If anything, his curtness just seemed to encourage the guy. “I’m Gabriel, from Angel Radio across the hall,” he said, gesturing at the offending storefront. His dark-haired friend was still standing near the entrance, clearly watching them. “You guys planning on entering the decorations thing this year?”

“Great observation,” Dean said with a broad, unwelcoming smile.

“We’re thinking of doing it this year too,” short-stack said, idly scratching at his chin with a rasp. “I mean, it’s pretty pointless and all—who really cares, right?—but we figured, there’s a gift card in it. So why not.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said, pointedly staring down at him. “I see you’re already in costume. Santa’s elf, right?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Ha ha. So glad to hear you have a sense of humor. It’ll help you live with yourself after we’ve crushed your store’s decorations into nothingness.”

“Well look who’s the joker now,” Dean said through a smile.

“Anyways. Just thought we’d say hi. Meet the ‘competition’, that sort of thing.” His eyes travelled over the store one last time before settling on his name tag. “Nice meeting you, Dean.”

He sashayed back to his own store, where his buddy was waiting. Even after Mr. short-and-spiteful went back into the store the other guy stood there watching him. Dean immediately decided that he didn’t like him either. Invoking the power of the Christmas Spirit to resist flipping the bird, Dean stomped towards the back of the store.

“Everything okay? Who was that guy?” Sam asked as he went by.

“Just some dick,” Dean replied, shaking off the black slimy feeling Gabriel had left in his wake. “We’re gonna need to pick up some things.”

Sam frowned. “Like what things?”

“Oh, just a few more Christmas decorations: icicle lights, a few boxes of tinsel, a life-sized replica of Santa’s sleigh—just the usual.”

Sam squinted at him dubiously. “I don’t like you around Christmas, man. You get all weird, and…cheerful.”

“He only started caring about Christmas when they put a prize on the contest,” Jo said as she stepped into the store, unzipping her coat with a businesslike tug.

“It’s called Christmas spirit, Jo, you should try it sometime,” Dean shot back. “And in this case, Christmas spirit just means we get a 300 dollar gift card to Biggerson’s.”

“Why do you even like that place so much? An all-you-can-eat buffet based on a time limit is a terrible idea. It’s just asking for overeating,” Sam said.

“What part of that sentence do you think wouldn’t appeal to me?” Dean asked. His eyes turned dreamy. “I figure I can go in there for two of the half-hour timeslot and still have enough extra to stay for the three hour on a weekend.” Dean patted his stomach. “I want to make sure I have an entire day to sleep it off afterwards.”

“Gross,” Jo chimed in. “But also, I’m in.”

Dean slapped her a high five. “Alright, nerds. Let’s get this wreath up on the door. We’ll have this year’s Christmas contest in the bag.”

Even after Jo and Sam dispersed around the store, Dean stood for another minute staring across the hall at Angel radio. They’d never had any real competition for the prize before. Dean wasn’t competitive, he was just motivated. And maybe some new rivals were exactly what he needed. Especially ones that were such dicks.

 

 

 

Castiel hadn’t meant to stare. He’d been straightening up the window decorations which he called traditional and Gabe called tacky when he felt someone’s eyes on him. When he’d looked up he’d seen the man across the hall peering out from behind a bunch of down winter coats. Castiel had seen him around in the weeks as they moved in—he’d heard his laugh drifting across the hall, and seen the way his eyes crinkled when he did. He’d darted out of sight as soon as Cas met his eyes. Gabriel had showed up a second later, drawn to an uncomfortable situation like a shark to blood.

“Who was that?” he asked.

Castiel shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, so it’s like that. Scoping out the neighbors already, Cas? You animal.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Cas grumbled, trying and failing to give in to Gabriel’s taunts. His brother always saw right through him.

To his credit, Gabriel looked surprised. “You were actually checking him out, weren’t you?”

Castiel groaned. “Am I not allowed to make eye contact with someone for more than two seconds without expressing sexual intent?”

“Not the way you do it, Cas,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “And not with a guy who looks like that. So many freckles.”

Years spent growing up under the same roof as Gabriel had completely dulled his capacity for embarrassment. “He appeared to be watching us.”

Gabriel’s eyes turned shrewd as they raked the storefront. “Is that so? Well why don’t I go over and say hi?”

Cas’s heart sunk. He knew that look: the same overprotective instinct that always reared its ugly head whenever Cas had anyone even halfway interested in him. Or more accurately, when Gabriel decided someone was halfway interested. “Gabriel, don’t—”

“Too late,” Gabriel said, heading off with a spring in his step.

Cas watched Gabriel chatting for a while—based on the other man’s expression, he doubted it was anything pleasant. The grin on his brother’s face when he came back only confirmed it.

“They’re entering the Christmas contest,” Gabriel crowed, darting straight to the staff computer and typing furiously. “Oh-ho-ho. This is gonna be good. Come on Cas, help me program in something really good. You’re better at this than I am, though you lack the imagination.”

Crossing his arms, Cas heaved a sigh. “Do you have to antagonize everyone we meet?”

“Do you have to ask?” Gabriel tugged his glasses out of his pocket and shoved them onto his face—something he only ever did when he was serious about something. He glanced at Cas shrewdly out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, they insulted us first. Ken-doll over there said our decorations suck.”

All the sympathy for their neighbors was instantly replaced with doubt. “He said that?”

“Sure did. He said we didn’t have a chance at winning the contest.”

Cas stared into space. Cas cleared his throat. Cas rolled up his sleeves. There were some things that even freckles couldn’t pardon. “Move.”

Gabriel stepped aside, a look of pure glee plastered over his face as Castiel took to the keyboard. “All right! Christmas is coming early this year!”

 

 

 

Hanging up strands of tinsel without the use of nails, glue, or any permanent adhesive was a lot harder than it looked. And Dean had to admit, it was probably looking pretty damn hard right about now. The ladder was swaying under his feet already, and he still needed that final half-foot before he could quite reach high enough. Dubiously, he squinted down at the “not to be used as a step” label on the top platform. That was just a liability thing, right? If you weren’t supposed to use it as a step then why have it at all? Bracing himself on the wall, he lifted his foot.

“Boy, what the devil do you think you’re doing?” The gruff words nearly sent him swan-diving off his perch, his wheeling arms rocking the ladder dangerously until a firm pair of hands grabbed the base.

Dean looked down into the face of Bobby Singer, a familiar frown plastered under his familiar baseball hat. “Hey, Bobby. What are you doing here?”

“My bullshit-sense was tingling,” he grunted. “You think a few extra strands of tinsel is worth you breaking your neck over?”

“I think you underestimate how much I care about winning that gift card,” Dean said, stepping down to a lower and less dangerous rung all the same.

Bobby whistled. “You never did care this much in the past.”

“Yeah, well, the competition’s pretty stiff this year,” Dean said offhandedly, his eyes straying to the storefront of Angel Radio for a traitorous second—dark-hair-guy was arranging some sleek looking silver wreathes on the front of the store. God, it was all so tasteful.

When he looked back to Bobby he couldn’t suppress a grimace—the old man’s eyes had followed his to the other store before fixing back on him accusingly. “Uh huh. I see what’s going on here.”

“What? Going on?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re too damn competitive, Dean?”

“You have, all the time. I just want to win, Bobby, what’s so bad about that? We’re the decorations champs around here. We gotta defend our title.”

Bobby sighed. “Why is it I can already see this ending badly for everyone?”

“Well at least we’ll take the bastards down with us, right?” Dean said brightly. Bobby was the embodiment of fatherly disapproval. “Come on, Bobby. I got this.”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “Then at least lay off the high-altitude decorations until your damn brother gets here.”

“Oh come on, he’s not that much taller than me,” Dean groaned.

Bobby pointed a warning finger at him. “I mean it, boy. I hear you get hurt in this stupid little battle of yours, I’m gonna go straight to the hospital and kick your ass. Christmas ain’t worth a dime, let alone spilling your blood over.”

“Santa doesn’t love Christmas? Hide the children,” Dean said drolly.

“Well excuse me that I’m not eating pinecones and shitting capitalism each holiday season.”

Dean leaned on the ladder with a broad grin. “Oh, come on Bobby, you love Christmas. You’re our mall Santa every Christmas Eve!”

“Only because that boss of yours has the lottery rigged every year.”

“You do it so well though. By the time they’re done the kids are too terrified to ask for anything except shampoo and printer paper.” It wasn’t like Dean could blame Bobby for not being in the Christmas spirit—from what little Bobby shared about himself, Dean got the impression his childhood holidays mostly involved microwave dinners and overheard shouting matches. Still, he always did his best to make Christmas a little better for the old man. You did that for family.

“What’s all this?” Ellen sauntered in from the back exit of the store with Jo on her heels, brushing a few flakes of snow off her jacket. “Hey, Bobby,” she said with a broad smile. “You harassing my employees?”

“No more than you would approve of,” Bobby said gruffly. “You keep an eye on this kid. He’s gonna go total-war on your neighbors if you aren’t careful.”

“I won’t let him out of my sight,” Ellen said, shooting Dean a look. “I’ll see you at the name-drawing, Bobby. I look forward to another great Santa performance from you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby grumbled, shuffling back off to the hole-in-the-wall bookstore where he worked, whose only decoration was a single wreath hanging up on the door. Dean was pretty sure Ellen had been the one to put it there.

As soon as he was gone, Ellen’s eyes raked over the new decorations skeptically. “So. What’s all this?”

“Just putting in the extra mile, as always,” Dean said.

Ellen nodded slowly. “Fine. As long as your work performance doesn’t suffer.”

“Right. Of course not.” He paused. “Uh, by the way: do you actually rig the Santa lottery?”

“Hell yes I do,” Ellen said with a wink. “The look on Bobby’s face is the best gift I get for Christmas.” She turned and walked past Sam and Jo, who were still taking in Dean’s most recent additions. “Look alive, folks. We open in ten.”

As soon as she was in the back, Dean fixed the pair with a broad grin. “Like it?” he asked, gesturing at his most recent work. “That’s real mistletoe in those wreathes. And the pine tree is a Fraser fir, and fresh cut too.” Dean heaved in a deep breath. “It even smells like Christmas. Let’s see their laser lights do that.”

Sam stared. Jo just shook her head. “Wow, Dean. This is definitely the most effort you’ve put into it so far.”

“That’s the truth,” he said. “We’ll show those techno-losers across the hall how us red-blooded Americas celebrate Christmas.”

“You know I was born in Canada, right?” Jo said mildly.

“Red blooded Americans,” Dean repeated reflectively. Sam had yet to speak yet. Dean was suddenly and acutely aware of that. “You don’t like it, do you?”

“No, it looks great, really—well it’s a bit much, but Dean, where did you get all this stuff? It must have been expensive, and no offense, but you’re not exactly rolling in the Benjamins.”

Jo snorted. “Not for what mom pays us.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dean said offhandedly. “Half this stuff I didn’t even have to pay for.”

Sam’s eyebrows did that thing where they raised and twisted at the same time. “Oh really?”

“I have my ways,” Dean snapped.

“Do those ways involve driving around suburban neighborhoods and stealing bits of people’s lawn decorations?”

 “Shut up, Jo. Sam, use your freakish height to help me hang up the third row of definitely-not-stolen tinsel.”

 

 

 

 The smirk that spread across Gabriel’s face as Cas made it in to work that morning was a very good indicator of how the day was going to play out. He was leaning on one of the counters and staring straight past the early customers milling around to zero in on the store across the hall. Periodically, he would snicker under his breath.

“Sometimes I worry about him.” Cas turned to see Anna at his side, her arms crossed and a doubtful look spreading over her face. “More often I worry about whatever trouble he’s currently brewing up.”

“It’s nothing too bad this time,” Cas said.

Anna’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, don’t tell me he’s roped you into his evil schemes.”

“It’s for the decoration contest,” Castiel said defensively. “We’re just going to make sure our stores wins. Or at least, beats the outdoor supply store across the hall. That’s all.”

Anna followed Gabriel’s maniacal line of sight. “Wow. Three rows of tinsel. Definition of trying too hard.”

Cas gestured at a figure moving behind their glass storefront. “See him? With the Santa hat?” Anna nodded. “That’s the man who said we didn’t stand a chance of winning.”

A look of comprehension dawned on Anna’s face. “That would explain the snowflakes, then.”

Cas glanced around at the flurry of dinner-plate-sized projected snowflakes drifting over the walls and ceiling. “What about them?”

“Let’s just say Gabriel changed them.” Now that Cas looked, there was something different about the patterns—a little less fractal-y. He instantly decided to avoid pursuing that thought any further. What he didn’t know couldn’t drop his pay.

Even after Anna had wandered off, Cas kept sneaking furtive glances at the man across the hall. He looked ridiculous in the Santa hat and plaid. The colors clashed. It was horrible. Cas just wanted to rip it off his head.

He really hated it when Gabriel was right all the time.

 

 

 

Surprisingly enough, Dean was actually working when he heard Sam call him over. His brother was standing a few feet from the window, idly sweeping the floor to look like he was doing something other than spying. Dean followed his gaze and saw nothing but Angel Radio and their stupid fancy snowflakes. “What’s up, Sam?”

“Hey, uh, Dean? You remember how I took that ancient symbolic languages class a couple years back?”

“I could hardly forget that obscene level of nerdiness any time soon. Why?”

Slowly, his head tilted to the side. “Because I’m pretty sure that the snowflakes in the electronic store are insulting us in ancient Japanese.”

“What?” Dean rushed over to look. At first glance they just looked like ordinary snowflakes, but the longer he looked at them the more certain lines or patterns jumped out at him. He shook his head in disbelief. “Those—jerk-faces!” Dean spat, doing the mandatory small-child scan during business hours. Christmas time always meant he had to start talking like a kid’s cartoon character. “I can’t believe they’d do that. It’s so… unprofessional!”

“Yeah, well who’s gonna write them up for it?” Sam said tiredly. “Something tells me that Marv doesn’t read ancient Japanese, and he’s the only one who would care.”

“I’ll bet it’s that, that _guy_ who’s behind it,” Dean spat, starting to pace back and forth.

“Who, the short one?”

“No, the other one. The guy with the dark hair. And the really blue, really stupid eyes. He just looks like the kind of guy to do this sort of thing, you know?”

Sam frowned. “The kind of guy who would insult someone in ancient Japanese?”

“Yeah! Just really smart, and mean, with his stupid uniform and small hands, thinking he can decorate for Christmas…” He threw his hands up in the air, his feet pounding into the floor with vengeance. “God, just thinking about him makes me so angry.” Suddenly his face went dark. “We have to retaliate.”

Sam stared at him. “Uh. Dude.”

“They’ve left us no choice.”

“Dean.”

“They drove us to this—”

“ _Dean_. You’re talking like a supervillain again.”

“I’m into it,” Jo said, popping up from behind the racks. “So, we getting revenge on those dickbags?”

“I didn’t know you were invested in this,” Sam said pointedly.

“I’m not, I just enjoy conflict,” she said with a smile. “What’s the plan?”

Dean leaned in closer. “Okay, here we go. Plan A is going to require careful planning, precise timing, three buckets of pine sap and at least one box of magnum condoms—”

“Oh my god, Dean, no.”

“Fine, Sam, way to ruin the party. We’ll go to Plan B.”

 

 

 

As Castiel was rearranging the tablet displays the next morning, he heard Gabriel muttering and swearing from the other side of the store. When he looked up, his older brother had crawled partially under one of the tables and was fiddling with something near the wall. His head poked back up with a frown.

“Cas, did you unplug the light displays last night?”

Cas shook his head. “No. Why?”

“Huh.” Gabriel looked from him to the cord in his hand before ducking back under the table. “Well. Let’s just get these plugged back in—”

There was a quiet sort of fizzle. Then the store exploded in a bright, white light.

 

 

 

Even from the back of the store, Dean could see the bright flash of light that came from Angel Radio as all their lights came on full blast. Even better, he could hear the howls of shock and fury as the employees struggled to turn them back off again.

“That’s how you do it, kids,” Dean said with a broad grin, slapping Jo and enthusiastic high-five and Sam a begrudging one.

“That was a pretty terrible thing to do,” Sam said.

“Yeah, terribly awesome,” Jo said. “Oh man, look, they can’t get the lights off again.”

“Hang on, the best part is coming,” Dean said, peering out past the rows of shirts. Silhouettes against the bright lights scurried around the store pulling things out of the walls and shouting at each other to turn it off—and then the music kicked in. Every classic Christmas song in existence, playing at full volume, all at the same time. By the time they figured out to kill the power, Dean and Jo were doubled over with laughter.

“Oh look, they’re finding the CD,” Jo said, wiping away a tear. Sure enough, elf-man was pulling the silver disk out of the music system and squinting at the message Dean himself had written there: “Back off, dicks.” Maybe not his most witty or original work, but it did the trick. Gabriel called his friends over, a redhead and stupid blue-eyes, who read it over his shoulder before all three pairs of eyes slowly raised to stare down the Roadhouse. Dean and Jo tugged Sam down behind the coat rack, but not before they were sure to give them a good look of their laughing (and in Sam’s case, miserably scowling) faces.

“Dean, you’re a genius,” Jo said, slapping him on the back.

“Don’t’ give me all the credit, the music part was your idea.”

“Yeah, that was pretty good. How did you get it into their store without them noticing?”

“He bribed a ten year old kid to put it in before closing,” Sam said glumly. “Seriously guys, I think this is a new low for us.”

Jo didn’t seem to hear—she was peering out underneath the bottom of the coat rack with an delighted expression on her face. “Oh my god, guys. Check it out.”

Dean followed her gaze. They’d finally managed to get the lights off as well, but standing in front of their store was a squat man with a ring of curly hair around his bald-patch, a dirty-looking scrap of facial hair, and an expression that was pissed-off to hell. His mall employee uniform had the “manager” tag prominently displayed.

“Marv’s on their case,” Dean muttered gleefully. “Man. This is too rich.”

Sam stared at him. “You don’t see any way that this could be a problem for us, then?”

“They won’t sell us out. Then they’d never be able to retaliate.”

“Oh, good,” Sam said miserably.

Marv was gesturing with a lot of feeling, from the employees to their store. There was lots of pointing involved. Dean had never been so happy to see their manager so angry. Probably because it was most often directed towards him.

After what looked like one final threat, Marv stomped off on his stumpy legs to leave the employees of Angel Radio stewing in their resentment. While making pointed eye contact with the front of their store, short-stack crushed the CD in his hand.

“Good work, guys,” Dean said, holding up his hand for one last high-five.

Sam walked away. “I’m not supporting this.”

“Go team!” Dean called after him. “Another point for the Roadhouse!”

 

 

 

Three days to Christmas Eve. The contest would be judged that night, and Dean was feeling good. The decorations were in place, the competition had been rebuffed, and an all-you-can-eat meal at Biggerson’s was just a few more string lights away. That ought to show people not to challenge his reign as supreme mall decorator. He couldn’t wait to see the lock on blue-eyes’s face—

“Winchester.” Ellen’s barking voice made Dean nearly drop the glass ornaments he had been hanging on the tree.

“Jeez, Ellen, why don’t you give me a heart attack?”

“Looks like your next one isn’t too far off,” she said, her eyes raking him up and down.

“That’s very hurtful,” Dean said, self-consciously adjusting the stuffed stomach hanging over his silver-buckled belt. “I’m Plaid Santa.”

“I can see that,” Ellen said. “How long were you working on that costume for, Dean?”

“I don’t need to sleep,” Dean grumbled as he resisted the urge to scratch every inch of his body where the costume touched his skin. Worth it, he told himself. The costume was worth it.

“Right,” Ellen said. “You remember what I told you about only participating in this contest if it didn’t affect your work performance?”

Dean’s mouth fell open. Funny, he’d always thought that was a cartoon thing. “Wait, are you banning us from the contest?”

“No, no, calm down,” Ellen said with a wave of her hand. “But that’s the direction you’re heading if you keep this up. I swear I haven’t seen you or Jo do a lick of work in the past two days. And you’re roping Sam into it, to boot.”

“Oh sure, everyone’s gotta look after Sam,” Dean grumbled. “You know, that kid isn’t the angel you guys seem to think he is. I’ve got stories. You’d be shocked.”

“Do your job, Dean,” Ellen said warningly. “I’m heading out early—Pamela needs a ride to the airport. Your brother’s in charge for the rest of the day.”

Dean made a face as she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.  Jo appeared a second later, an apprehensive look on her face. “Official reprimand?”

“You know it,” Dean sighed. “How come she didn’t chew you out?”

“Oh, she did,” Jo said darkly. “Just be thankful you aren’t her blood relation. I’m on mop duty for the rest of the month.”

Dean whistled. “That’s rough.”

“Worth it, though.”

“Totally worth it.”

“Uh, guys?” Sam called out. There was a weird high note in his voice Dean didn’t usually hear. He and Jo traded a look. This couldn’t be good.

“What’s the problem, Sammy?” Dean asked as they wandered over.

His brother was standing with his back to them, head bent like he was staring at something on the floor. “We have a problem.”

Dean took a step closer, looking around curiously. “Hey man, what’s the probleohmygod.”

At Sam’s feet was a wreath. The wreath was crawling with bugs. Little tiny ones with squirmy legs. Little tiny bugs scurrying all over the store. “What the hell is that?” Dean cried.

“That,” Sam said grimly, “Is payback.”

 

 

 

Having Marv in your shop was never a good thing. The only reason Marv came out of his office (other than judging the decorations, of course) was to tell someone how badly they had screwed up. And this time he’d sure had a lot to say.

“Bringing this vegetation inside is a clear violation of both health and safety regulations,” he was saying. “You’re lucky it was only bugs you tracked in. It could have been something much worse.”

“Like what, the black plague?” Dean muttered under his breath. Sam’s elbow jammed into his ribs before Marv could hear him.

Marv’s flat, blank eyes stared him down. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the incident at Angel Radio yesterday, would it?”

Dean’s poker face could have won him the pot. “No sir. I don’t know how those guys do it over there, but we run a tight shop here.”

“Apparently not.” Marv scanned the premises with a slight twitch under his eye. “Call an exterminator. And consider this a final warning.” He turned on his heel and left their shop in a huff.

“Technically that was our first warning,” Jo grumbled.

“I hate that guy,” Dean said. “Dude’s got lizard eyes.” Still, he was insanely grateful Ellen had left with she did. With any luck they could cover this up without her ever knowing.

A loud noise from across the hall made Dean look up. The employees were all grouped together, shooting not-so-furtive looks at The Roadhouse and occasionally shaking hands. Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“Hold my hat,” he said, pressing it to Sam’s chest.

“Dean, no, don’t—oh, for the love of God,” Sam groaned behind him.

When he stepped into the store the little knot of employees dispersed, not without a few snide looks and quiet snickers. Dean walked up to Gabriel and tapped him pointedly on the shoulder. When he turned around, his eyes lit up with evil joy.

“Oh, hello again Dean,” he said. “Was that Marv we saw over there? Hope you guys aren’t in any trouble.”

“Yeah, well you know how it is when someone tosses a bug-infested wreath into the middle of your store,” Dean snapped. “Seriously dude, that’s low. And gross.”

“Christmas is the time of giving,” he said. “It’s not our fault if you don’t like what you get.”

Dean held up a finger in warning. “Watch it pal, or I’ll—”

“What? Give me a lump of coal?” Gabriel’s eyes scanned his Santa suit. “Just give it up, man. We’re gonna win this one. That’s just the way it is.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a lump of coal alright,” Dean growled. “A lump of coal set on fire and thrown through your shop window at night.”

Gabriel paused. “Did you just threaten arson? Because that is very illegal.”

“So’s being a giant douchebag,” Dean snapped, turning to storm out of the store.

Instead of going straight back to the Roadhouse, he decided to walk it off in the mall. He’d probably just end up breaking something, or getting them in more trouble. His head was in the middle of a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, mainly featuring anger and the word “dicks” being chanted over and over. A small kid took one look at him and scurried off in the other direction. His mom shot him an angry look. Dean was about to follow up on that when someone caught his arm.

He found himself being turned around and coming face-to-face with the blue-eyed guy from Angel Radio. He wasn’t wearing a name tag—guess their uniforms were too sleek for that—but Dean would recognize him anywhere. He’d been throwing imaginary darts at his imaginary picture ever since day one of their rivalry. This was the first time Dean had seen him up close, though, and he had to say it was an experience. Not like he’d notice that kind of thing, but the guy had great bone structure. And insanely long eyelashes. Dean narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want?” he snapped, shrugging off the other man’s hand on his arm. “Your brother already handled the majority of the gloating, so if that’s what you’re after then I’m gonna come right out and say that’s super tacky.”

The man shook his head. There was a serious, distant look to him that seemed like a permanent feature of his face. “I’m not here to fight. I came to tell you that I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Dean paused, eying him more shrewdly. “What do you mean?”

“It’s insane for our two businesses to be fighting this way,” the man said. “It’s Christmas: we should be spreading joy. Not small insects.”

“Amen to that,” Dean said, genuinely surprised for once. “And it’s about time one of you came out to make amends. So, does this mean you guys are dropping out of the contest?”

The man looked at him strangely. “No. We still plan on competing. I just would prefer it if we could avoid any further conflicts between us.”

Dean grinned, and not in a friendly way. “Oh, I see. You want us to play nice. Right then. That’s just dandy.”

“I don’t wish to stir up further animosity with this conversation,” blue-eyes said, glancing around nervously.

“Oh, not at all,” Dean said, his voice dripping with irony. “Tell you what—just apologize for everything that you guys did, and we’ll call it square.”

The man stopped. “Apologize? Why would I do that?”

“Uh, because you filled my store with bugs.”

“After you nearly blinded and deafened us the day before.”

“You insulted us with snowflakes!”

“Get over it.”

Dean glared. Blue-eyes glared. The air between them caught fire and ran away. “Fine. You know what? We’re gonna win the gift card, and we’re gonna get our food to go, and we’re gonna go sit and eat it right in front of your store, how’s that sound?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t get food from a buffet to go. _They don’t allow it_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a rule-breaker!” Dean cried, throwing his hands up and stalking away. Oh, he’d show him conflict alright.

 

 

 

The great thing about driving to your 9 o’clock job at 4am was that there was hardly any traffic. The bad thing was that it was 4am. Sam, of course, had insisted on sleeping in to a reasonable hour instead of getting up to help with the decorations (quitter) and so Dean was yawning his way down the winding roads by himself. Even the Impala seemed to be reacting sleepily. Normally he was only awake at this time because he hadn’t gone to bed.

Tree trunks flashed by in the beams of his headlights, with the white mounds of snow pushed up by the snowplow shoved right up against their roots. Why there had to be a stretch of forest between civilization and the shopping mall was beyond him—possibly that was where Marv took the shoppers who didn’t leave the mall by closing to hunt them for sport. Whether he was a vampire or a werewolf had been a constant argument between Sam and Dean when they first started working there—eventually they’d settled on the fact that he was just a really shifty guy. Either way, driving on these roads at night had always creeped Dean out.

Something bright that wasn’t snow loomed out of the haze of darkness and exhaustion, making his heart stutter in surprise. He pressed the brakes just in time to see the shape materialize into a man, a pale grey backpack slung over a trench coat. A scarf was pulled up over his nose and mouth and his arms were jammed into the crooks of his arms—he wasn’t even wearing any gloves, for crying out loud. Slowing down, Dean scanned as much of the road as he could see. What wasn’t completely dark seemed to be empty. So either he was about to be a good Samaritan, or he was about to get robbed.

He rolled down his window. The air that poured in from outside was bitterly cold.

 “Hey, man,” he called out, catching the stranger by surprise. “Little dark for a stroll, isn’t it?”

The man looked up in surprise, a bright figure against the stark black background of trees. There was a sort of gentle confusion mixed with a healthy amount of suspicion on his face as he gestured down the road. “I’m just heading to work early. I don’t live far away.”

There was something really familiar about that voice, but Dean was too tired to place it. “In the middle of the night? Come on. You know they say there’s monsters in the woods.” Dean nodded his head to the passenger seat. “You work at the mall? Can I give you a ride?”

The man looked down the road and then back to the car. Heat spiraled out of the open window in inviting curls as his breath came out like gouts of steam. Dean could see him shivering, but hey, he probably wouldn’t trust a stranger in the middle of the night either. For some reason he just really wanted to help. Just something about him.

“Hey, it’s fine. At least let me give you some gloves or something, you look like you’re going to freeze to death.” Dean tugged off his own gloves—what the hell, it was Christmas, right?—and held them out the window. “You can stop by my shop and drop them off sometime. I work at The Roadhouse.”

“Yes, I know where you work,” the man said carefully. He had very distinctive eyes, which might have been due to the fact that they were the only part of his face Dean could actually see. He stared at Dean like he was pulling him apart and weighing all the pieces. “I think I’ll take that ride, actually.”

Dean shrugged and pulled his gloves back on. “Sure thing. Hey, you’re not going to mug me, are you?”

The man shot him a weird look as he got into the car. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Awesome. Just checking. I’m Dean, by the way.”

The man accepted his hand cautiously. “Castiel.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow at the weird name, but said nothing. “Alright then Castiel, wanna explain why you’re walking on the side of the road at five in the morning when it’s less than ten degrees out?”

“None of my family would drive me to work so early,” he replied. “I wanted to get a head start on a personal project.”

Dean laughed. “Hey, same here. I’m actually going to work on our decorations for the Christmas contest.”

“Yes, I gathered. The entire backseat of your car is full of plaster reindeer.”

“One of their antlers has been poking me in the back for the entire drive. It’s pretty painful. But you gotta put in the extra mile to crush the competition, right?” Dean shook his head. “Seriously, the guys across the hall from us are such assholes. I don’t even care if we don’t win as long as we beat those them.” He paused. “Okay, I care if we win. That gift card is gonna be totally sweet.”

 “Oh, certainly,” Castiel said. “Our store is _definitely_ looking forward to winning it ourselves.”

Awkward pause. “So you guys are competing,” Dean said casually.

“Yes.”

“Right. Well. Hey, I’m sure you’re gonna give it your best effort. And you know, it’s having fun that really counts.”

“We’re planning to win,” Castiel said.

“Sure you are.” Dean reached over to pat his arm encouragingly. “But our store has been the reigning champion for as long as they’ve been offering a reward. So there’s that.”

“Well, you’ve never had our store to contend with.”

Awkward pause number two. Dean cleared his throat obnoxiously loud. “ _So_ then Castiel—where do you work?” The question may have come off as a little more loaded than he’d intended, but definitely not more loaded than it was.

There was a pause. A suspiciously long pause. Then: “Angel Radio.”

The car screeched to a stop. Dean slowly turned his head to the stranger sitting in the passenger seat. His eyes narrowed. “Pull off that scarf.”

The man stared him in the eye. One hand still red with the cold reached up to tug the fabric down. Dean didn’t gasp dramatically, but it wouldn’t have been out of place. It was the same guy from yesterday. Blue-eyes. The only part he could see where those eyes, yet he still hadn’t recognized him. Dean really shouldn’t be driving this early.

“You,” Dean said, pointing an accusing finger. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you, I was walking,” Castiel said mildly.

“Are you here to sabotage us again?” Dean demanded. “You’re trying to pull one over me, aren’t you? With your—” he gestured vaguely up and down Castiel’s body—“Trying to make me feel sorry for you, or, I don’t know, scope out the competition!”

“You offered me the ride,” Castiel pointed out.

“That was before I knew you were a dirty saboteur.”

“You do realize that you also sabotaged our decorations.”

“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite!” Dean unlocked the car with a violent flick of his wrist. “Now get out.”

Castiel stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious? Whatever happened to you worrying about me freezing to death?”

“That was before I knew your shameful secret,” Dean said. “Go on. Git.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. “No. I’m in your car, we’re only a five minute drive away.”

“I’m not driving you anywhere.”

“Fine. I guess we’ll just sit here.”

“Fine.” Dean wrenched the keys out of the ignition and sat back in his seat, raising his eyebrows at Castiel. The other man just nodded smartly and turned to face forward out the windshield. Dean followed suit. Fine. Whatever. He wasn’t going to be a pawn in this asshole’s games, despite the fact that it was already feeling pretty cold in here—but no. He would be strong.

He was strong for three minutes. Let it not be said he didn’t try.

“God damnit,” he growled, jamming the keys back and starting the car with a guttural sputter. He stared at his unwelcome passenger until the smug smile slid off his face. “This is harassment.”

They lapsed into a bitter silence filled only with the roar of the engine and occasional squeak of the tires on the still-frozen asphalt. After a minute, Castiel glanced from him to the road. “Aren’t you driving a little fast?”

“Yep,” Dean said, throttling the wheel. “I’m gonna spend as little time in this car as possible.”

He heard the dry click as Castiel swallowed. “The speed limit is 25.”

“The speed limit is for sissies.”

“The roads are still icy.”

“Ice is for sissies.”

“Dean, there’s a—there’s a curve in the road right—Dean, you should be turning—”

“I am,” Dean said, fighting with the steering wheel. It was no use. The car skidded, swerved, but didn’t stop. That was worrying. More than worrying. The curve in the road loomed right ahead of them and the car wasn’t stopping, it wasn’t stopping, he was leaning more towards terror now, and Cas hadn’t put on his seatbelt, and the front of the car bucked into the air as they hurtled over the edge of the snow and into the void.

 

 

 

“Man. We almost died just then.”

“Yes. As I said, you were driving too fast.”

“No one likes a smartass, Cas.”

“My name is Castiel.”

“Okay Cas. You’re still kinda in my lap though. Just thought I should address that.”

“Yes. Right. My apologies.”

Castiel found himself sprawled over onto Dean’s side of the car, where he’d tumbled when they’d hit the snow. There didn’t seem to be any damage done, though the steering wheel was digging in to his back and Dean’s face was uncomfortably close to his own. Even in the dark he could still see the freckles. It was indecent.

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably as Cas extricated himself from the driver’s seat and shuffled back onto his side. Just once, Castiel would have loved to feel attracted to someone who didn’t hate his guts. Best not to dwell on it. “Well,” Castiel began, “At least no one got hurt.”

Pure horror bloomed on Dean’s face. “Oh god. Baby.” And with that, he unlocked his door and dove out of the car.

 “Dean?” Castiel said, fumbling his way out into the snow after him. “Did we hit a small child?”

He rounded the front of the car to find Dean on his knees in front of the car, which had nosed up over the snow bank and gone halfway up the hill before losing momentum. Waving the light from his phone like a torch, Dean was scrutinizing the nicks and scratches there with an expression of pure agony.

Castiel stopped a few feet away, feeling the wet snow already sinking into his boots. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. It struck him that they could have died in the past five minutes. That was a strange thought.

“Are you okay?” he said at last. Dean groaned and planted his forehead on the freezing metal of the hood. “Urrghh.”

Castiel knelt down in the snow beside him, ignoring the freezing splotches spreading to his knees. “I’m sorry about your car.”

Dean made a noncommittal gesture which mostly expressed his noncommittal to anything but utter despair. Castiel heaved a sigh. “Although I did warn you that the roads were going to be icy—”

“Not the time, Cas,” Dean groaned.

He didn’t correct Dean on his name this time. The other man’s shoulders were slumped under his jacket, everything washed out in greys and whites in the moonlight. Castiel was starting to shiver again, but he felt no desire to move. Instead, he reached out his hand and gently settled it in the middle of Dean’s back.

He expected the other man to shrug him off, tell him he didn’t want pity or softness or whatever this was that Castiel was giving him right now. He didn’t. The knot of tension in the middle of his back loosened ever so slightly. Dean’s breath hissed out in a gush of mist.

“At least we weren’t hurt,” Dean said at last, sitting up and offering Castiel a lopsided smile. “I mean, if you had maybe gotten banged up and the car had been fine… Joking, joking,” Dean said quickly as Castiel looked away in feigned disgust. “Mostly joking.”

Castiel sighed. The moment had passed. He climbed to his feet and brushed the remaining snow from his pants and tried not to let his shivering get too obvious. “Let’s just get the car back on the road.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” His eyes lingered on Castiel for a minute longer before he stripped off his gloves again. “Here. Take these. You look like you need them.”

Castiel accepted them gratefully, sliding his hands inside before Dean could change his mind. They were still warm from the other man’s hands. He couldn’t help but smile. “I thought I was a dirty saboteur.”

“Yeah, well, a dirty saboteur is no good with frostbite,” Dean said gruffly before starting to pack the snow down around the car’s wheels. After a minute, Castiel began to do the same. Not actively wishing for someone to freeze may not have been a wild declaration of love, but Cas would take what he could get.

 

 

 

By the time Dean and Cas made it to the mall they were both soaked from the knees down, sort of sweaty, and tired. The only parking Dean could find was on the other end of the mall, meaning they had to walk the whole length to get in to work. But with hours before either of their shifts started, Dean felt like it was okay to take his time. Multicolored lights blinked from many shop fronts, fake snow covering their displays and the faint sound of Christmas jingles wafting out their doors.

 He walked at an even pace, his muscles still sore from the morning’s ordeal, with Cas in step beside him. They guy had actually been a big help. He stuck with Dean the whole time when the mall was only a fifteen minute walk away. That might not make up for everything, but it was something.

“It’s really nice,” Dean commented offhand. “I hadn’t really had a chance to see what everyone else is doing for their decorations this year.”

“Yes. It’s beautiful.”

Dean laughed as they passed by Bobby’s shop, resolutely dark and music-less. “Except for Bobby. God, what a stick in the mud. He’s a good guy though.”

“I haven’t met him,” Cas said.

“Oh yeah? I’ll have to introduce you sometime. I’m sure he’ll be interested to meet my arch nemesis when this is all over.”

A wry smile twisted Castiel’s lips. “Is that how you think of me?”

Dean squinted off to the side dubiously. “Nah, actually, I’d say that dickbag Gabriel gets that award. He’s a real tool.”

Cas glanced at him out of the side of his eye. “He’s my brother.”

“Oh shit man, sorry.”

“No, I was agreeing with you.”

Dean laughed.  Who knew the guy had a sense of humor. Apparently there was a lot you could learn about a person after being trapped in the snow with them all morning. “You know, you’re really not so bad.”

“Really? I’m glad you think so,” Castiel said, shooting him a twinkling look. “I still find you pretty intolerable.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Hey, you want me to drive you back out there and let you walk?” Dean asked, bumping their shoulders together just enough so it might have been an accident (it wasn’t).

“Thank you,” Cas said more seriously, stopping to turn to face Dean. He stopped as well. Their stores were just around the corner, a few short steps. Amazingly, Dean found he wasn’t entirely eager to go back. Something had changed this morning—he wasn’t sure what, but he didn’t want it to go away. Cas stared at him for a moment, that same look in his eyes that made Dean feel like he was being deconstructed and put back together.

“Yeah, no problem man,” Dean said, swallowing down the weird feeling of heat in his stomach that seemed to be fighting into his face. “Sorry I almost, you know, killed you.”

Castiel smiled. “An apology at last. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Hey, I’m just sorry for this morning. Not anything before it,” Dean said, but there was no bite in it. “Or after it, for that matter. Let me tell you, we’ve got some really blood-curdling stuff in store for you guys today. We bought a factory-grade staple gun.”

“How terrifying,” Cas said mildly, and _damn it Dean pull yourself together and stop fiddling with your car keys like a frickin’ teenager_. “Understand this doesn’t constitute an apology on my part, either.”

“I’d never dream of it,” Dean said, the smile scurrying back on his face before he could help it.

Cas nodded. There was a moment where Dean felt the acute absence of something that was supposed to be there that neither of them knew how to do.

“Well. I suppose we should be getting in to work. I believe Gabriel and Anna have already arrived.”

Dean laughed nervously—why was he nervous? “Yeah. I guess so.” He pulled out his phone to check the time (which was still obscenely early) and paused. “Huh. Lots of missed calls from Sam and Jo. Guess they got in early as well.”

Cas nodded before holding out his hand. “Right then. Good luck on your decorating. You’ll understand that I hope it goes horribly.”

“Oh, likewise,” Dean said as they shook. “Well. May the best store win.”

“Agreed.”

“It’s gonna be mine, though.”

“Whatever you say.”

They stepped around the corner.

 

 

 

The first thing Dean saw was the fire. It was sort of noticeable. In fact, it almost managed to overshadow the literal live reindeer tethered nearby, or the fact that Jo currently appeared to be throwing fistfuls of mashed potatoes at the Angel Radio storefront. The majority of both their decorations had been torn down. Sam, wearing the ill-fitted Santa suit, looked like he was in a fight to the death with the redhead—either that or he was crying hysterically into her shoulder.

But Dean really was having a hard time looking past the fire, because someone had set up a big metal trashcan in the middle of the hallway and was currently feeding strand after strand of tinsel into the flames with a harsh, plastic smell. That someone looked up. It was Gabriel. And that was Dean’s tinsel.

 “You,” he spat, stalking forward. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you want me to explain it to you?” Gabriel shot back, tossing the last of the tinsel into the car and warming his hands. “Ah. Nothing burns like plastic sheeting. Mind the fumes. They’ll mess you up.”

“You think that you can win by destroying our decorations?” Dean demanded.

Gabriel glanced around at the chaos surrounding them. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Think again,” Dean snarled, pausing just inches from Gabriel’s face. “I’m gonna win this, whatever the cost.”

Gabriel’s eyes seemed to darken. “Whatever the cost?”

Dean stared him down. “I’d die for that gift card.”

“But would you kill for it?” Gabriel shot back in a voice that was dangerously low.

“ _Oh my god, this is fucking insane!”_ Sam howled from the background.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the mortal combat theme started playing.  

Somehow, the first punch wasn’t nearly as satisfying as Dean had always imagined it.

 

 

 

“…Five counts of vandalism, three counts of assault, more property damage than I’m capable of comprehending right now, and one count of traumatizing a small child,” Marv said, staring at all of them over his glasses, “which, while not technically an illegal offense, I thought was worth mentioning all the same so you can all really understand what you’ve done.” He set the list down in front of him on the desk and steepled his fingers. “So. What do you all have to say for yourselves?”

There was a beat of silence. Jo, Sam and Dean sat on one side of the room with Gabriel, Anna and Castiel on the other. Both parties exchanged a look. A feeling of mutual understanding passed between them.

“It was Gabriel’s fault,” Dean said at the same time Gabriel said “They started it.”

Marv looked just about ready to murder someone. Dean only hoped he’d start with Gabe. The pleasure he’d get out of seeing him disemboweled with a fountain pen would almost make it all worth it.

“Look, I’m just about ready to have all of you thrown out of the mall,” Marv said. The amount of sobering up which happened in the second after that sentence was equivalent to a swimming pool of coffee and a dip in the arctic ocean.

Marv’s eyes flicked from one face to the next, drawing out the suspense as long as possible. “However,” he said at last, “due to admittedly good fire-safety practices, the fact that this was clearly an isolated incident, and I have something better to be doing on Christmas Eve than filling out paperwork, I’ve decided on a more fitting punishment. Both of your stores are out of decorating contest. For life.”

This time the silence was like a cement block dropped on top of them. “ _What?_ ” Dean said in unison with about half the other people in the room.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s arm in a vice-like grip before he could speak up. “Really. This will never happen again. You have all our word.” He paused meaningfully. “Doesn’t he?”

There was a mumble of begrudging assent from the ranks. Marv nodded. “Good. Now, all of you are going to go back and clean up the mess you’ve made before the mall opens in three hours.”

“Are you kidding? That’s a full day’s job!” Anna cried before someone kicked her chair.

Marv stared at her dispassionately. “Then I guess you’d better get started.”

 

 

 

Returning to the shops was a sad business. Strands of paper cutouts hung dejectedly from the rafters. It looked like someone had plucked all the shiny fuzz off the tinsel and scattered it around. The back wall of Angel Radio was periodically flashing with gibberish and explicatives. Dean kicked a loose ornament with his foot. No one else moved.  

“This blows,” Jo said at last.

“Yeah it does,” Anna muttered darkly. “We should protest.”

“You’re right, I didn’t really want this job anyways,” Gabriel said ironically.

“I think what’s important to remember here is that this is all of our faults, and we deserve it,” Sam said.

Dean held up his hands. Right now he was so tired he could have fallen asleep right there. “Guys, come on. We lost, and that’s it. There’s nothing more to do about it except to clean things up. So let’s just get all these decorations picked up—” He took a step forward, or tried to. The floor seemed to be coated in something sticky. He looked accusingly at Jo. “Is that maple syrup?”

“It was your idea.”

“I never told you what the plan was.”

“We had to improvise.”

Dean pinched the bridge of nose. This was what just deserts must feel like. “God, fine. Let’s go get a mop and some towels or something.”

“What about all the decorations?” Castiel chimed in. “There’s nowhere else to put them.”

Dean started to answer, then stopped. Cas had a good point. It would take all day to move everything by car after all the trips he’d made in the past week. Dean chewed his tongue as his eyes roved around the storefronts he could see, searching for a solution. They settled on one in particular, totally dark with nothing but a scraggly little wreath in the window. A slow smile dawned on his face. “I may have an idea.”

 

 

 

When Bobby showed up for work that morning, they were all waiting for him. There was nothing left of the desolation from the morning except a vague sticky feeling on the floors and a few clumps of tinsel stuck on the walls. Marv had stopped by half an hour before opening, glanced around looking for something to criticize, and finding nothing, had slunk back up to his office. As it turned out, they worked a lot better when they all worked together. Dean wasn’t sure when his life turned into a Disney channel Christmas Special, but he definitely resented it.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean said smoothly as the man stepped through the door.

Bobby immediately pinned him with a suspicious scowl. “Alright, what the hell did you do?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked with doe-eyed innocence, guiding him through the halls closer and closer to his shop.

“Why’re you acting all nice all of a sudden?” 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Dean said with a grin. “Just getting in the holiday spirit. Speaking of which, it might be about time for you to do the same.”

“I already told you, boy, I don’t do Christmas,” Bobby grumbled.

 “We’ll see about that!” Dean said with a grin as they rounded the corner. Bobby stopped in his tracks.  

The front of Bobby’s shop was all alight, strung with lights and dappled with projected snowflakes. Strands of pine branches hung from every available surface, and the real tree that Dean had acquired had been set up right in the window. Fake snow heaped on the bookshelves and spilled off the counters. The collective employees of Angel Radio and the Roadhouse all stood outside clapping as they came into sight.

“What do you think, Bobby?” Dean asked. “We thought if we can’t have a shot at the prize, well, we’ll at least give you one.”

Bobby’s face was a blank mask of shock. He stared from Dean to the store to the waiting crowd of people with a disbelieving expression. He threw his hands up in the air.

“Damn it, boy, how many times do I have to tell you that I hate Christmas before it settles in!” he growled.

Dean held up a finger. “Wait. You haven’t seen the best part yet.” He gestured towards a figure standing just inside the door to Bobby’s shop. Out shuffled Ellen, bedecked in the mall Santa costume complete with fake belly and completely unamused expression.

“Ellen kindly volunteered to take your place as mall Santa this year,” Dean explained. “Well. I say volunteered.”

“What did you give her?” Bobby asked in what may very well have been amazement.

“I told her that I’d put her on my tab at the bar for the next year,” Dean said. “I also may have agreed to be the mall elf for all of today. So there’s that.”

Bobby stared at him. For a second Dean thought he was going to make him take down all the decorations. But then, Bobby clapped him on the shoulder and out a short, hearty laugh.

“Now there’s something I’d like to see,” he said with a smile. The clapping started up with a lot more enthusiasm, but cut off as soon as Bobby shot them a look.

“Still not too thrilled about the decorations,” Bobby grunted.

“I’m calling it a victory,” Dean said with a smile.

Bobby made his way through the group of people, chatting and making sour faces as the situation demanded. As much as the old guy might groan and moan, the man had a heart under all that stubble and flannel (even if it was preserved in a mason jar of whiskey).

To Dean’s surprise, none other than Gabriel pulled off from the crowd and walked straight over to him. Dean tensed up, expecting fighting words or at least a sneer, but Gabriel simply flopped against the wall beside him and fixed him with the kind of stare that made Dean feel like he was being X-rayed in the worst kind of way.

When Gabriel made no move to break the weird silence between then, Dean cleared his throat. “You want something, Gabriel?”

Gabriel ignored him. “You know, you’re not as bad as I thought,” he said. “You got spunk, that’s for sure. I guess I’m starting to see why Cas is into you.”

“Yeah, well you—wait, what?” Dean stared at him for a long moment. “Did you just say—”

“I mean, I was just joking about it at first, but come on, nobody gets _that_ into Christmas decorating without some ulterior motive,” Gabriel was saying. He frowned. “Wait, you hadn’t figured that out yet?”

Dean barely heard was Gabriel was saying. All he was currently capable of was staring off into space as the emotional equivalent of car horns blared through his head. Not like he would trust a word Gabriel said, but it was more than that—the pieces all seemed to fall into place. Cas liked him. How did he feel about that? Initial reports were positive. The follow-ups looked promising. Castiel thought he was a cool person. Castiel wanted to spend more time with him. Maybe he was just speculating. He better stick with the facts: Cas liked him. And he liked Cas. What a perfect equation.

“Look, you’ve had this expression on your face for the past thirty seconds like you’ve been trying to think, and I find that a little worrying,” Gabriel said.

Dean shook himself out of his own head for long enough to grab Gabriel’s shoulder and stare him straight in the eye. “Listen. I still think you’re a douchebag. Sorry, that’s how it is. But thanks. Really.”

“I’m doing this for Cas,” Gabriel said. “But you’re welcome. Now quit talking to me and go find him.”

Dean was already gone.   

 

 

 

Dean found Cas in a back corner of the bookstore, his fingers trailing down the spines of the neatly ordered hard covers there. Back here all the sounds of the stores preparing to open for a day faded into silence. Bobby asked him to watch the shop on the way out as he saw Ellen off to Santa’s workshop, and probably take a few celebratory photos. Everyone else had returned to their respective places of business, meaning he and Cas were alone.

For a minute Dean dawdled where he couldn’t see him, having a full on Gollum-style debate in his head before stepping forward. Cas looked up. He didn’t seem surprised—almost like he’d been expecting him.

“Dean,” he said, placing a book he had taken out back on the shelf. Dean tried to focus more on the dry rustle of the covers than the way his name sounded in Cas’s mouth. God, he was so hopeless. Sam was right. Christmas made him a huge sap.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said in what hopefully passed as a casual tone. He ambled on up and inspected the covers Cas’s hands had passed over. “The classics, huh? That’s funny, I took you as more of a teen-vampire-lit kind of guy.”

 “I see you’ve discovered my guilty pleasure,” Cas said sagely. “I must ask you never tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Dean said with a quiet laugh. “Tell you what, come by Santa’s Workshop later today and snap a few pictures of me as one of Santa’s elves. That should work pretty nicely for leverage.”

Cas stifled a laugh. “Will there be tights involved?”

“Probably. And bells.”

“Good lord.”

“I know. It’s almost too attractive for me to handle.”

“I’ll try to contain myself, but I make no promises.” Cas smiled. “I guess now that we’re no longer competing we’ll have to start being civil to each other,” he said.

Dean glanced away to give himself a minute to regroup his thoughts. “Yeah. Damn shame. I had a lot of really great pranks up my sleeve.”

“Did they also involve syrup, or mashed potatoes, or any other food product?”

“I mean, if you insist I guess I could show you. You’re just gonna want to bring a change of clothes.”

The edge of Cas’s mouth twisted in a really horrible way. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe you are just trying to get me undressed.”

There was a agonizing silence. Dean’s heart made its best attempt at squeezing out between his ribs as his brain-to-mouth communication reached critical lows. As if realizing what he had just said, a look of pure horror crossed over Cas’s face.

“I mean—,” he said hurriedly, looking away in embarrassment. “Ignore me. That was incredibly inappropriate.”

“No, Cas, it’s fine,” Dean said with a grin that he looked away to hide. “Uh, it’s great actually.”

Cas looked up, and Dean was treated to a front-row view of the realization clicking into place behind Cas’s eyes. “Oh. So you—Okay.”

“But you’re right, that was super inappropriate,” Dean said sternly. “I’m going to need you to apologize.”

“I believe the precedent for apologies has already been set,” Cas said, his smile stretching even wider. “In that they require massive amounts of effort to procure. In fact, I believe a date might be in order.”

“A date?” Dean whistled theatrically. “Now, I don’t know about that. You’re probably just after my massive stockpile of second-hand Christmas decorations.”

“You got me,” Cas said, lifting his hands in defeat. Dean was fairly sure that he would never get tired of seeing Cas smile. He wanted to touch the crinkles by his eyes. “You know,” Cas said, his eyes travelling upwards. Suddenly he frowned. “Hmm.”

Dean followed his gaze into the empty rafters. “What is it?”

“I could have sworn I hung a sprig of mistletoe right there.”

A huge grin split Dean’s face. “You had this all planned out, huh?”

Cas looked down, a little color creeping into his cheeks. “Not really. I mostly just waited and hoped.”

Dean glanced around them meaningfully. “But there’s definitely some mistletoe in here somewhere, right?”

Cas nodded, his eyes sparkling. Dean reached out to take his hand with a mischievous smile.

“Alright then,” he said, pulling Cas along after him. “Let’s go find it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
